Page 25 of Christmas in the Scot's Arms
As Liam dismounted his horse, Aldridge caught his gaze, and they exchanged a knowing look. Hawkins was a liar and was about to engage in a bet he was not going to be able to satisfy. Such a man was likely one who would scheme to rid himself of his betrothed, yet ensure he still look like a gentleman in order to capture a new, wealthier bride.
Once both men had taken off their coats, and Hawkins his cravat, they faced each other. “What are the rules?” Hawkins demanded.
Liam offered a grim smile. He’d been fighting barefisted since he was a wee lad. It was somewhat of a sport in his clan. “’Tis simple,” he replied. “The first man down is the loser, and payment is due within two days.”
Hawkins’s lips curled into a mocking smile. “But of course.”
“When Aldridge signals, we start,” Liam added.
Hawkins nodded, Aldridge gave the signal, and Liam watched, fists raised, as Hawkins began an odd sort of dance. The man shuffled to the left, and then the right, and then back again. He jabbed as he did so, and Liam merely leaned one way, then the other, to avoid the man’s punches. But as he did so, he mentally counted beats in his head. Two beats and Hawkins would dance to the left again. One beat and Liam would strike.
Beat.
Liam sent his fist straight at his target. He didn’t mind the impact or the sound of crunching bone in the least. He did, however, mind Hawkins’s howls of pain. They were rather annoying.
“Do ye want more?” he asked Hawkins as he swayed on his feet.
The man turned rage-filled eyes on Liam. “I’m going to bloody well—”
Whatever Hawkins was “going to bloody well” do, Liam would never know. He shot his fist out to connect nicely with the man’s jaw. Hawkins’s head jerked backward, and the man stumbled, then crumpled to the ground. He sat on his bottom, blood now gushing from his nose and bottom lip, which Liam realized he must have grazed. He stepped toward Hawkins until he loomed over the man. And then he waited. It took a minute, but Hawkins finally glanced up at him.
“Thatis how a Scot fights,” Liam said. He turned on his heel, took his coat from Aldridge, and wasted no time heading back to London.
